


In Which Spot is More Violent Than Needed™

by feathertail, FeralCreed



Series: RP Fics [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Brooklyn's Here, Canon Era, Homophobic Language, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, What if?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 10:48:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12604876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: What if Race got taken to the Refuge? Brooklyn would've turned up a hell of a lot quicker.12/7/18 This story will no longer be continued.





	In Which Spot is More Violent Than Needed™

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an RP

The whole of New York had heard about the Manhattan newsies striking against Pulitzer. Jack had come the day before to ask for Brooklyn's help, but Spot didn't want to commit to something he wasn't convinced of, nor believed Manhattan wouldn't fall through on. He didn't want to risk his boys.  
  
But the news of the strike was all over the city, and Spot was preparing to send a messenger to let Jack know that next time they had an event, Brooklyn would be there, when a Manhattan newsie crossed the bridge, coming to bear the news of the capture of Spot's very own idiot, Race.  
  
It only took one sharp, screeching whistle from Spot to gather the Brooklyn newsies, as it was passed around the suburb like the boys were parrots. And then they marched on The World.  
  
It was an intimidating sight, for sure. The toughest, meanest newsies around crossing the bridge to Manhattan in a mass, all posts abandoned at Spot's command; no-one dared to go against Brooklyn's king, especially not when he was in such a foul mood. No-one in Brooklyn got a newspaper that day.  
  
Spot lead Brooklyn over the bridge, and brought them to a halt, silent and deadly, as he spied Jack. Gesturing to a couple of boys, he stalked ahead to meet the Manhattan newsie leader. "I'm with you. We're with you. Tell me what to do," he grunted, arms folded across his chest. He'd never taken orders from someone he considered to be an equal or below him before, and likely never would again, but this was a unique circumstance. This was Race, and Pulitzer had crossed a line.  
  
When he heard that the Brooklyn newsies were marching on Manhattan, Jack's first reaction was to hope that they were to help rather than siding against them. He pushed away his feeling of relief when Spot clearly stated his allegiance, wondering why the hell the Brooklyn King was suddenly willing to take orders from him. Nobody, but nobody, told Spot Conlon what to do.  
  
But he didn't question it, instead nodding and revising his plans in light of the fact that Brooklyn was standing behind them. "I'll send Romeo to Queens to tell them you're with us, you send boys to the other Boroughs. Call a meeting tonight at nightfall for anyone who wants to come, but the Kings have to be there. If we don't plan this through, we're going to fail." That was a certainty.  
  
"We've already lost Race," he added, frowning. "They came close to getting Crutchie and the kid, too. Rest of us got lucky, more'n anything. It's why we need Brooklyn. We need you. The others are only with us if you are." Which was something he didn't like to admit, but it was the truth and he couldn't do anything about it. "But if we win this, if we see it through, we get him back, maybe even help the other guys stuck there."  
  
Spot set his jaw at Jack's answer. He didn't want to wait until tonight, Snyder had Race and could be doing god knows what to him right at this very moment. But he knew Jack had some good brains, both his and the Walking Mouth's combined, and his approach to marching in all guns blazing was likely not the best way here. So he listened. He took orders, for the first time in living memory.  
  
His jaw tightened further as Jack mentioned Race specifically but kept silent, nodding shortly as if it was only business they were discussing, like how Race was allowed to sell at Sheepshead, even though it was Brooklyn turf. "I'm not gonna let Pulitzer get away with this," he vowed. "Or Snyder, or any of the others. I'm not leavin' until we get 'im back, and they sort out prices."  
  
He turned sharply on his heel and called out the names of his fastest runners, and dismissed them to the other boroughs to spread the word. "We're not gonna fails, Cowboy. I won't lettus." He clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder, a small show that he still had control and that he wasn't buckling under the power of Manhattan. "What are you plannin'?"  
  
Jack wondered what was up, with Spot seemingly not happy about his mentioning Race, but that wasn't something to get into right now. With the news on its way, he needed to get together with Davey to work out what to say and how to say it. Especially considering there would no doubt be questions about personal safety, what with Race getting taken. He wasn't sure how to answer any of their questions, how to get them to follow him, but they'd gotten this far somehow.  
  
Everything fell into place quickly, and Jack didn't mind the sort of posturing with the hand on his shoulder. After all, there was no power imbalance here, they were partners, and they needed each other. Hell, all of New York's underage labour needed them. Then Spot asked the first question.  
  
"We stop circulation across the whole city, unite the newsies into one voice and make sure ole Pulitzer hears us loud and clear. Make him hear what we have to say, make him know we're serious, that we won't back down, that we want our rights and our people. I don't know how we're going to do it all, not yet, but we will." And hopefully he'd be able to check on Race while he was trapped in the Refuge. Jack was worried about him, there was no two ways to look at it.  
  
Spot nodded as Jack spoke; he'd selected a few Brooklyn to stay behind to make sure no scabbers used their absence to sell big and ruin the strike. "We's can get a message out, tell all the boys to come here, from every city in New York. We's bring 'em all to Pulitzer, an' stop him comin' and goin' from his place. Show 'em it ain't just Manhattan newsies on his case, that we's united from all across New York."  
  
It was a good suggestion, but there was always the possibility that it wasn't enough, and he knew it. "How secure's the Refuge? Can we break 'em outta there? Show 'em who they're dealin' with?"  
  
Still, it didn't feel like enough. It wasn't a big travesty to New York to not have a newspaper, people could get by without it, it was a luxury. If they could tap into the more essential workings of the city... Spot turned his head to listen to Chuckles, one of Brooklyn he trusted the most, and called friend, as much as the King could have a friend when he had to constantly watch his back, then turned back to Jack to relay the collection of information Chuckles had brought forwards from other newsies.  
  
"How's about we get the word out to other kids? Ain't fair that we get to strike an' they don' - they deserve it jus' as much as us. We can bring New York to a standstill."  
  
"Good," Jack said, nodding. "The more we got, the more he can't ignore us. If we got all the City newsies with us, he ain't gonna be able to scare us off again. Won't be able to set the cops on us neither." Before they'd gotten unlucky because there had only been a handful of them and they'd been surprised. And though it made him feel a little guilty, he was glad Race had paid the price for their bad ideas rather than someone that he was closer with.  
  
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Refuge is too strong, ain't no way to break someone outta there. Not unless he can get halfway out on his own. Snyder made a prison of that place, an' most of the boys in there're too scared of the guards to try to escape. Race'll have to be on his own for now, but getting' 'im out is something' we'll do sooner or later. We gotta." Though they weren't best friends, he and Race were still familiar to each other, and Jack didn't like the thought of anyone being in the Refuge. "But if we march on the Refuge we'll just be handin' ourselves over to 'em. There's too damn many to fight in and back out again. Those men'll shoot ya." And that wouldn't help anybody besides the undertaker.  
  
"We can do that," he said slowly, thinking it over. "Tonight, after the meeting, we figure out some way we can tell all of them. And tell the adults, too, make 'em see what Snyder and Pulitzer do to us, do to all the kids in New York. And we tell 'em we've had enough of starving and scraping and getting locked up. We tell 'em that New York won't run without us and we ain't doin' nothing until they treat us right."  
  
The more they fought, the more they'd accomplish, and Jack had little concern for what might happen to himself because of it. As long as they got Race out, as long as they helped the other kids, it would be worth it. With Brooklyn behind him, the other boroughs would follow, and nothing would be able to stop them. People would have to listen, and when they did, the kids of New York would tell them a story that they wouldn't forget.  
  
Spot's jaw twitched at Jack's dismissal of his Refuge rescue idea, but otherwise didn't respond except through a nod. The only way to get in, then, was to get caught. And he didn't really want to do that, didn't want to leave his newsies. They had to come before his Feelings.  
  
"Sounds good," he grunted as Jack developed his idea. "They can' turn a blind eye forever. Not when they's not gettin' their papes, or their shoes shined. Ain't no way they can ignore us. But we gotta make sure we has the impact straight away. My boys are already suff'rin' from the price rise, they's not got enough to be on strike for long." And even though he made sure all his boys were eating and sleeping, he himself didn't have bottomless riches. He'd have to scrape by, like his subjects, and he didn't want to risk losing their loyalty. Brooklyn kings weren't chosen, they chose themselves and killed the last king for the throne. For his own self interest, as well as the interests of his boys, he needed to keep them in food and lodging.  
  
"What's the Walkin' Mouth gotta say?" he asked, turning to Davey, who had been until now standing, thinking pensively, at Jack's side.  
"Well, maybe we could get a pape out?" he suggested.  
Spot waved his hand dismissively. "Pulitzer's got a black out on strike news. Ain't no-one in town gonna print it fo'fear of'em."  
"Surely there's one printing press he doesn't control?"  
"Well, if there was, I ain't heard of it." Spot shook his head impatiently. "C'mon, Cowboy. We gotta sort this. I ain't lettin' my boys starve, and I ain't lettin' Race rot."  
  
"If I thought we could get in to help 'im, I'd be right there with ya. But I've been in there. We can't do shit from the outside. Maybe we can keep one of the youngest kids posted there to try to keep an eye on things," he offered, trying to compromise on it. "Not gonna want them where there's fightin', anyway. Don't want 'em hurt." Kids like Davey's little brother, that wouldn't be any help in a fight.  
  
"They might wanna ignore it, but they won't," Jack vowed. "Not when then can put our boys in jail, pay us less than we can live on, kick us around like we ain't nothing but a buncha tin cans. We let 'em get away with it till now, but not any more. It's gonna stop here an' now, whether they want it to or not." And with the City united against a common enemy, Jack really believed they had a chance this time around. In a way, they'd already gotten their foot in the door, with stopping the papers, but they had to make it through to the finish line if this was going to mean anything.  
  
"Yeah," he agreed when Spot mentioned how his boys wouldn't be able to be on strike for long. "I've already been helpin' to feed a coupla the little'uns outta my own pocket, we can't get by on no money for long. Gonna be losin' kids in just a couple days if we don't get somewhere by then." It'd just be important that they wrapped this up quick, or otherwise, they'd start losing people left and right, and Jack wouldn't be able to blame a single one of them.  
  
"We ain't lettin' anybody starve and we ain't lettin' anybody rot. If we're getting these kids behind us, we're takin' care of 'em. Manhattan's not gonna be any better off once this really starts." It wasn't like any of them ever really had cash to spare, but Jack was going to do whatever he could to look after his boys. "Davey, you and a coupla boys get to work on this pape idea, take whoever you want outta Manhattan."  
  
Spot nodded reluctantly at that suggestion. He had a couple boys like that from Brooklyn, and he told Jack as much. "If yous says so, Jackieboy," he agreed. "But the second we can, we get'em out, okay?" He'd heard about the Refuge, and though thankfully all of his boys had managed to avoid it, he still heard horror stories of newsies not coming back from its dark depths.  
  
Spot crossed his arms at Jack's little speech, smirk playing across his lips. "Well, yous is confident, Jackieboy, so there'sa start, ah? Now yous gotta get all your boys confident so theys gonna follow us." He knew his boys would follow him no matter if they agreed or not, that's what you did with an ascension history like Brooklyn's kings; you didn't mess the boss around.  
  
He nodded slowly at Jack's different system of financing. "No one Brooklyn has more money than 'nother," he grunted. "Brooklyn looks after Brooklyn. But it also means we all start going down at the same time - Jack, you ain't gonna lose Brooklyn in bits, yous gonna lose us all in one. We ain't got the funds to strike after tomorrow. This gotta be sorted by then or we goes back to work, raise an' all. I can' force them outta work an' watch them starve."  
  
"Yous can have any Brooklyn you want, Mouth," he put forward, not that he expected Davey to accept and take any; Brooklyn were known for their brawn, not their brains.  
As expected, Davey just nodded and turned to pull a few boys out of Manhattan's ranks, including Crutchie and Kid Blink; Spot wasn't insulted by his choice at all. He squeezed Jack's shoulder in encouragement before scarpering with his team to seek out a press.  
"He realise the future of New York's kids is on him?" Spot snorted.  
  
"We're getting them out," Jack vowed. "Boys that're in there too long, they don't come out the same way they went in. Manhattan has only got one boy in there, but we'll stand for all of 'em. They need someone on the outside wanting to fight for them." Jack himself still had nightmares, had spent long hours sketching what he'd endured in an attempt to exorcise his demons. Crutchie had had to wake him hundreds of times, before his whimpers could turn to screams that would wake the others.  
  
"My boys will follow me," Jack promised. "They ain't gonna be able to for long, we ain't got the money for it, none of us. But every one of 'em is loyal to me an' to Manhattan." And he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer than his boys could if it came to them not eating. He wouldn't ask them to do that anyway.  
  
"We'll sort it by nightfall tomorrow. Tonight'll be all the planning, getting the word out, printing Davey's pape, making sure nobody works tomorrow. Next day we push it all in Pulitzer's face, in everybody's face. We make them listen, we make them know we ain't backing down. And we're gonna win." They had to.  
  
"Yeah, Davey knows," Jack said with a proud little smile. His Davey could do anything, understand anything. And once he'd realised what they were fighting for, the sheer magnitude of what they were facing and why... Jack wouldn't say that Pulitzer or Snyder or anyone else could stand against him.  
  
Spot fought to keep himself under control as Jack spoke about how boys didn't come out the same. He couldn't have that happen to Race. He just couldn't. And despite his best efforts, his hands balled into fists and his jaw set. "All righ', all righ'," he said eventually, impatiently, waving at Jack. "I gets the picture. They's gots us fightin' for 'em on the outside."  
  
He nodded as Jack promised his boys' loyalty. "Good. We can't be dealin' with no scabbers when we gots other things to deal with." He nodded again, believing Jack's promise that it would be sorted. He didn't want to pull his boys out any more than they or Jack wanted them to, but he had little kids to take care of. And while he and some of the others could starve for a few days more, they might not make it, they were thin enough already. "We better, Kelly."  
  
He cocked his head a little at Jack's smile, narrowing his eyes. He recognised that smile. He stepped forwards so it was just the two of them when he spoke again, lower than the other times he had. "You's a fairy? A fairy for the Mouth?"  
  
Jack tilted his head a little at Spot's obvious reaction to his talk about the Refuge. Everyone knew what it was like, but nobody else had had quite his response to losing Race to it. It was almost like Spot cared more about him than the Manhattan newsies did. And that was a strange thought, all things considered, though Jack couldn't figure out why for the life of him.  
  
"We'll keep scabbers out of Manhattan. Might even be able to get them to join us if we handle them right, treat them the right way." Jack wouldn't put money on such a thing happening, but then again, he never would have put money on a successful newsie strike. Chances were they could all be surprised.  
  
He squared up when Spot got in close, not sure what he intended to say but not about to take it sitting down if it was an insult. But what Spot said surprised him to no end. "You thinking there's something wrong with that, Conlon? Davey's the best damn thing to ever happen to me and I ain't ever gonna be ashamed of what I feel for 'im."  
  
Spot tilted his chin up and dared Jack to say something as he tilted his head, presumably wondering why Spot was reacting so badly to what he said about the Refuge. "He's Brooklyn too," he said after a minute, not sure if this would help or hinder his defence. "He sells on Brooklyn turf, he's Brooklyn."  
  
"I ain't sayin' that, Kelly," he shook his head. "I's is sayin' yous isn't too subtle abouts it, an' there's a lotta other guys who'd soak yous both for bein' a fairy. I ain't gonna, but I'm warnin' ya. This ain't a friendly time or place for a fairy."  
  
Jack nodded at Spot's explanation. Good enough. "Yeah, he's Brooklyn as much as he's Manhattan," he agreed. And Race had been strangely eager to keep selling in Brooklyn even though he'd hardly been driven away. Jack had just put it down to the other's natural insanity. There wasn't much that couldn't be explained with that reasoning.  
  
"It ain't never gonna be a friendly time. But I'd stand in front of the devil hisself and call that boy mine, if I had to." Then he frowned a little, eyeing Spot almost a little suspiciously. "How do you know, Conlon?"  
  
Spot hid a small smirk of satisfaction as Jack called his boy just as much Brooklyn as Manhattan, and though he wouldn't admit it later to anyone except (maybe) Race, that gave him a lot of pleasure, Kelly handing Race over like that without even knowing the true nature of their relationship.  
  
"How do I knows? It's bloody obvious, Kelly. Yous is more touchy feely wit him than yous's other boys. Yous gets the sappy smiles on yous's faces when yous look at each others an' talk 'bout each others. I seen that smile on 'nough of my boys with girls to knows what it means. I ain't no fool, Kelly, no matter what I seems. An' there's is gonna be peoples noticin' an' they ain't gonna be as friendly as me. I can stop it in Brooklyn, I can't stop it in Manhattan too." He shut his mouth, then, because if he went on he'd be explaining how people would begin to suspect him of being a fairy as well, and how he couldn't work with that as King. Besides, he already cared too much about boys loving boys, he didn't want Kelly or any of the boys figuring out why he was so pissed about Race being taken.  
  
Jack had expected Race's primary loyalty to stay with Manhattan, but he was hardly adverse to his second home in Brooklyn. And besides, having a Manhattan newsie on Brooklyn turf helped bring the two boroughs together. Or at least that was the hope, and Jack liked to think that it all worked out.  
  
He perked up slightly at Spot's observation. "He looks at me like that too?" he asked hopefully, obviously pleased with that idea. And talked about him too, it seemed. Maybe Davey liked him as much as he liked Davey. That would be unbelievably amazing. But right now, not the point.  
  
"We'll tone it down for ya, Conlon, don't worry. 'Sides, why're you caring so much what's going on with other fellas? You a fairy for one a your boys? One a mine?" His eyes widened slightly. "Is you an Race...?"  
  
Spot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ya pillock. Yous looks at each other like the world revolves around yous and yous twos is all that matters. It's pathetic, and yous needs to toughen up."  
  
"I cares because I's associated with yous. And yous has to watch who yous associate with as King'a Brooklyn." His face set into a hard scowl. "I ain't no fairy, Kelly. Race is Brooklyn, and Brooklyn protects Brooklyn." He stepped forwards, fisting the front of Jack's shirt and lifting him off the ground with seemingly little effort. He could hear his boys arming themselves behind him, in case this came to a fight.  
  
"You spread a word'a me bein' a fairy, Kelly, you threaten my reign, and I swear on my rule that you's is gonna be flyin' off the side'a this bridge before dusk. And you ain't gonna reach the shore. Yous got that?" he snarled in Jack's face, daring him to continue talking.  
  
Jack quickly lifted a hand to stop Manhattan from making an issue out of his being manhandled. Spot had good reason, not that he'd tell them what that reason was. Same as he wouldn't want Spot to tell on him and Davey. His boys fell back a little, though he knew they'd still be watching the boys from Brooklyn carefully.  
  
"You throwing me around tells me Race belongs to you. So I'll get him back for you. Not for me or Manhattan, for you. When this is over, he's all Brooklyn, all yours, if the two of you want it to be. But either way, he'll come back to you safe. I'll promise it on anything you want." He couldn't even imagine the heartbreak and terror of having Davey taken away from him for any reason, much less to the Refuge.  
  
Spot could hear murmuring behind him from his boys, confusion and agitation evident. It wasn't often Spot lost his temper, and it was even rarer for him to lose his temper and do something that could potentially start a war. He ignored the way he could hear them testing their slingshots, picking out the best shooters - ammo that would fly best, knocking sticks against the ground, testing knife blades' sharpness. He had to focus on this.  
  
"I ain't no fairy, Kelly," Spot snarled, temper flaring savagely. "An' I ain't in no-one's debt, an' it's stayin' that way." He hated being in debt to someone - he'd been in debt to Race for saving one of his boys a while back, and he'd given him expensive cigars for weeks before Race decided what he could do to settle the debt, and only then did he deem it settled.  
  
"I ain't no fairy, an' if yous wants the Mouth to make it outta this strike unharmed, yous ain't gonna mention anythin' again. Race ain't mine, 'cept for how my boys are all mine 'cause they're Brooklyn, an' I sure as hell ain't his. We understood, Kelly?" He shook Jack slightly.  
  
"You ain't in nobody's debt for wanting somebody to be happy. And Race's happy when he's around in Brooklyn, everybody knows he has a good time over there. If you two ain't together, I dunno that he knows it. So you be real fucking careful with one of my best friends, Conlon. Please." Half of Manhattan had seen how Race lit up whenever Jack said he could go to Brooklyn. And Jack had never denied him. He'd assumed he'd had someone, sure, and he'd always thought it was a guy, truth be told.  
  
He tensed up at the threat against Davey, fighting the instinct to look back and make sure that his boyfriend wasn't being harmed as they spoke. "Davey's gonna come through this fine if I gotta be torn to pieces for it to happen. Ain't nobody hurting him while I'm alive." Jack didn't know what he'd do if that happened, or even if he could live through losing Davey like that. Through losing Davey at all.  
  
"If he's nothing to you, then you better tell him, Spot. Before he gets something different in his head. I will if you won't." Jack didn't want to get involved in their evidently very complicated relationship, but he also didn't want to see Race get hurt, emotionally or physically. And the latter would win out every time, because Jack looked after his family, and Race was closer to him than his own father.  
  
Spot continued to glare at Jack, staying silent for a while before he finally spoke. "Fine. But yous remembers that, I ain't havin' yous callin' on favours an' debts I don't owe yous."  
  
"Then yous forgets this conversation, Cowboy, an' we's protectin' Mouth like he's one of our own. Otherwise, he won't know what's comin'." He knew he'd hit a sore spot from the way Jack tensed.  
  
"I thought I's told yous to forget this conversation, Kelly," he snarled, hiking him closer, but back on the ground now. Even his arm was starting to feel the strain. And that was his good soaking arm. "Yous ain't gonna breathe a word to nobody, an' we takes care of the Mouth like he's Brooklyn. Do we's have a deal?" He spat in his free hand.  
  
"Manhattan keeps its word," Jack promised. And even though it had only been given between the two of them, he never went back on what he said. Sure, he might be a no good paper boy and criminal, but he wasn't a liar.  
  
And he knew Spot wasn't either. Which put Davey in immense danger, which wasn't something that Jack even wanted to think about, which meant that he'd do exactly what was asked of him. For Davey he'd do anything. His violent nature demanded to give a threat in turn, to swear that Race would meet his end the day his own love died, but he would never follow through on it. Race was his brother.  
  
He spat in his own hand, ready to shake on it, despite his own misgivings. Race had got his heart wrapped up in Spot, and Jack didn't want his brother getting hurt. But it was out of his hands now. Whatever happened would have to be between the other two boys, no matter how much Jack wanted to look out for him.  
  
Spot shook Jack's hand and then let him down, folding his arms once more. "Good doin' business wit'chu, Manhattan," he sneered, back to normal volume levels. He raised an eyebrow, then turned his back on Jack to face his boys. "Put 'em away, boys," he yelled. "Ain't no war here today. Jus' a li'l dispute between me an' Cowboy. 'e's back in 'is place, no worries." His newsies grumbled more than a little, but obediently put away their weapons, though their glares didn't lessen.  
  
"Tenpin!" Spot roared as one of his lot didn't sheathe his knife. "Put it away, or I's havin' it." That got the blade away, and he turned back to Jack.  
  
"So, Kelly. What's next?"


End file.
